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“Are you okay?”
I’m faking a smile, trying to convince her I am, when Ezra’s eyes catch mine. It’s only for a second. I look down and carry on the same as usual for the rest of lunch. I think I’m doing a good job until the bell rings and Jenna laughs.
“You’re such a liar,” she says.
“What?”
She rolls her brown eyes. “Josh, you didn’t even eat your food.”
I tell myself to get my shit straight before physics, and I try. I get to class early, feeling strong—until he sits on the stool by mine and he lays his muscular, suntanned right arm beside my left atop the counter.
He says, “How’s it hanging, DG?” and I nearly swallow my tongue.
I guess I frown, because he smiles. It’s a big smile—like, a real one. He looks relaxed as he shows off his flawless white chompers. I notice he’s wearing a peach baseball cap backwards.
“Cat got your tongue?” he asks.
“No.”
My eyes seek out the podium, hoping Bumble will arrive to save me.
“Saw him in the hall,” Ezra reports. “He was talking to a woman with a film projector on a cart.”
Oh, hell. Today we’re watching one of those damn physics shows.
“Not a fan of lateness, eh?” He reaches down to get his books, and I can smell him. It’s the same smell I get after he showers. “You early everywhere you go?” he asks me.
“No.”
He gives me a smirk, and it’s gorgeous on his tanned face, with his long-lashed, fuck-me lake eyes moving down my body.
He opens his textbook, and I watch as he starts working some problems. They’re from the middle of the book. He moves through them fast, as if he’s racing.
I think of asking if he’s showing off, or if he’s really doing them at all. He’s writing so fast, I can’t tell if he’s doing the work. Then Bumble’s there, and Ezra shuts his book. He rests his arms on the tabletop, clasping his hands together. I try desperately to keep my eyes on the screen.
Five minutes later, he’s gone—who knows where. He doesn’t come back until the end of class. This time, I notice Bumble says something to him. Ezra murmurs something back, and the man smiles and nods.
What?
I’m still wondering what bullshit he fed Bumble as I walk from band practice to the soccer field. I search for him on the field behind ours, feeling like I’m in a dream with heavy eyelids and a head full of cut-grass smell. But I can’t find him without really staring. Maybe he sat out today.
But…he didn’t. I get home and find his car is missing—presumably still at the school. He doesn’t get home in the next half hour, which I spend talking to my mom while eating Fritos in the kitchen.
He gets home after I’m in my bedroom. I hear him clomping toward his room, and then I hear the shower come on. I guess he didn’t shower in the locker room. I wonder if he ever does.
I trudge down for dinner late, already worrying about how I’ll react to him. But he’s not at the table. Carl says he’s out with James; they’re eating with a Fairplay grad named Chauncey. The guy plays football for the University of Alabama now.
“It’s so lovely how your friends have welcomed him,” my mom says.
So lovely.
I end up getting lowkey scolded for not going out enough, like social butterfly Ezra. When I slide into bed at 11:30, dude still isn’t home. I walk to the window that looks out over the front yard. I can see a cigarette butt out on the roof’s dark shingles.
I go to bed hugging my pillow, thinking about college. Things will be better once I’m out of Fairplay. It’s the only thing I really need—to get away from here and be able to be myself and start my real life.
The next thing I know, I’m upright in bed, my heart racing as I blink around the dark room.
What the—
I hear moaning. Ezra. Fuck. A bolt of adrenaline flushes through me as I climb out of my bed and hurry through the bathroom. I’m not relieved to climb onto his bed and wrap my hands around his shoulders. That’s not how I feel as I shake him awake.
“Hey, Ezra…”
“Miller,” he moans.
He rolls from his stomach onto his side, peering up at me with sad basset hound eyes. Then his eyelids drop shut. His body jerks just like last night as he sinks back down into dreamland.
I lie on my side with my back to him, hugging myself as my mind races. I should maybe go away now. But…I shouldn’t. Maybe he wakes up again. What’s wrong with him? Sympathy and pity, desire and irritation tighten my throat.
This is not supposed to happen.
What can I do?
You can leave him in here.
